


A Fresh Start

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Bullying, Chance Meetings, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Destiny, Fate & Destiny, Feels, First Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10939563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Edward remembers a chance (or fateful?) meeting with a mysterious boy called ‘Chester’ in Gotham years ago.Requested by @nygmobblespot (may not be quite what you were expecting but I hope you enjoy anyway!)For those of you who want to know how I picture Ed and Oz as kids, please check out the beautiful drawings by @selene-yoshi-chan and @heartpoisedfanarts. They’re adorable!





	A Fresh Start

Even in the height of Summer, Gotham’s sky was grey.  
Edward opened the door and stepped onto the roof of the apartment building. He had never been up here, preferring instead to spend his time at the library on the next block. Anything to avoid being around his aunt’s kids. But today the library was closed for an invitation only function so Edward was stuck trying to amuse himself and avoid ending up as the amusement for his three cousins.  
He closed the door behind him and admired the view. Despite the dirt and the noise, Gotham was an interesting city. He could feel the history in the brickwork and there were so many interesting hidden nooks and crannies that just demanded exploration.  
His first day, his aunt had yelled at him for wandering off on the walk back to the apartment from where she had picked him up at the train station. She had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want him in her apartment any more than his parents had wanted him hanging around their house for Summer vacation. Edward had decided to watch his step as a result: anywhere was better than going home.

A sudden flapping noise caught his attention and he realised he wasn’t alone.

There was a pigeon coop in the centre of the rooftop square with several of the birds milling about. Peeking around the corner of the coop were two pale eyes set in an even paler face.  
As Edward approached, he saw it was a young boy about his age, shorter than him with black, unruly hair that reminded Edward of a bird’s nest.  
He was watching Edward carefully. Edward recognised the look: the boy was worried Edward was going to hurt him. Edward became determined to prove him wrong.

‘Excuse me?’ he asked, ‘May I sit up here please?’

The boy nodded brusquely and moved around the coop so he was hidden once more.

Edward made to move past him but became intrigued by the pigeons sitting on both of the boy’s shoulders like stuffed animals. Could you train pigeons?

‘Are these your pigeons?’ Edward asked, watching the birds coo at each other and preen their feathers.

‘I just feed them sometimes’, the boy said shrugging.

Edward watched as the boy lifted up a paper bag and began to distribute a mix of crumbly feed in front of the birds. Seeing his dark-haired head bob and his watchful eyes, Edward thought the boy looked rather like a bird himself.

‘What do they eat?’ 

‘Grain, bugs, bread sometimes’.

‘Do they have names?’

The boy shook his head as he finished emptying the bag.

‘Why not?’ Edward asked, eagerly jotting down what the boy was telling him in the notebook he always carried.

‘You ask a lot of questions’, the boy said, tucking his empty package away.

Edward immediately stopped writing and said what his parents told him to say.

‘Sorry’, Edward said, crestfallen, ‘I didn't mean to be rude. I’ll stop bothering you’.

Edward began to turn away but he was startled to feel the boy gently tap him on the arm.

‘It's okay’, the boy said regretfully, ‘I didn’t mean it like that’.

Edward smiled to show he wasn’t offended and saw the boy’s head tilted curiously.

‘What are you writing?’

‘Oh! I write down anything new I learn in here. So I remember’.

He showed the boy his latest drawing: a little doodle of one of the pigeons. He would draw a proper one later when he had time and more colours than his pencil.  
The boy smiled but then seemed to catch himself, as if he was worried Edward would see him smile.

‘You, uh, wanna pet one?’ the boy asked.

‘Yeah!’

The boy scooped one of the birds up in both hands and held it out to Edward. He gingerly ran a finger along its back but then added his other fingers once he realised the bird wasn’t as fragile as he had first assumed.

‘It's so soft!’ he giggled.

The boy smiled more openly this time: Edward’s joyful realization was infectious.

‘You don't live in our building’, the boy observed, replacing the pigeon back in the coop after a few more affectionate pats.

‘No. I’m just visiting. I go home tomorrow’.

‘Who you staying with?’

‘My aunt Theresa. She lives on the eighth floor. You know her?’

‘I know her kids’, the boy said, his face darkening.

‘I'm not like those Neanderthals’, Edward protested, anxious to protect his reputation.

‘Yeah, I know’, the boy said, locking the coop, ‘You don’t look like a caveman’.

‘Woah’.

‘What?’

Edward took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sweater. The boy walked past him and sat on an old bench beside a makeshift garden of a few potted plants.

‘When I say words like that the other kids don't understand’, Edward explained, replacing them on his nose.

‘I know how that feels’.

‘What's your name?’ Edward asked, touched by the slight sadness in the other boy’s voice.

‘Chester’, the boy replied.

Edward noticed the way ‘Chester’ had hesitated before answering but decided it was unimportant. He probably just didn’t like his real name.  
Edward hated his middle name Edwin. Because it was his father’s name.

‘I'm Edward Nashton’, Edward said, extending a hand, ‘Nice to meet you’.

‘You too’, Chester said, taking the hand.

Edward was careful not to shake too hard. As Chester’s hand had protruded from the overlong sleeve of his jumper, his knuckles had come into view. They were swollen and reddened. 

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘Nothing’, Chester said, tucking his hand back inside his sleeve.

‘Doesn't look like nothing’, Ed said gently.  
He knew that reaction well. How often had he said the same thing?

‘One of your cousins said something about my mother so I hit her’, Chester said with sudden, surprising boldness, ‘Do they mess with you too?’

Chester patted the empty space on the bench beside him and Edward took the offer. 

‘I just try to stay outta their way’, he said, fingers tapping on his notebook as it nestled in his lap.

‘You should stand up to them. Or tell a grown up’.

‘Yeah maybe’, Edward said, pretending to be very interested in a large fern to his right.

‘They’re just jealous of you ‘cause you’re smarter than they are’, Chester said stridently.

Edward wished he had Chester’s confidence. It was odd to see someone smaller than him so sure of themselves. Were all Gotham kids tough?

‘Nobody’s jealous of me’, he said.

‘Can I see?’

Edward’s grip tightened instinctively on his notebook as Chester held out a hand. After a moment of analysing Chester’s face for signs of mischief he saw all too often on other children’s faces and finding none, Edward relinquished the book.  
He watched as Chester flipped through his various notes and observations, bracing himself for criticism. He never showed his parents or therapist his notebooks. It always seemed to rub them the wrong way. He’d been careful with this one: the pictures were of nothing but plants and things he had seen on the way into Gotham and-

‘What’s this?’ Chester asked suddenly, eyes wide.

 _‘Oh no’_ , Edward thought as he saw the picture Chester had stopped on.

He had seen a dead deer on the highway on the way to Gotham and sketched it from memory as the bus had sped on. He had done it to pass the time and distract from his nerves at travelling alone.

‘Did you draw this?’ Chester asked, tracing the pencilled guts and splintered bones on the page.

‘Y-yes, it’s, um, a diagram’, Edward said, pressing his fingers hard together. 

‘This is amazing’, Chester said with widened eyes and a smile on his face.

‘Really?’ Edward asked, heart racing, ‘You’re not…freaked out?’

Chester closed the book gently and gave it back. Edward quickly took it back and held it close.

‘People only freak out because they don’t understand’, Chester said, stretching nonchalantly, ‘I like a mystery, don’t you?’

‘An enigma’, Edward mused, smiling.  
He’d always liked that word.  
Maybe he could get used to being a mystery.

‘Exactly!’ Chester smiled, then frowned as he looked up, ‘Wait here. I'm gonna go get an umbrella’. 

‘Okay’, Edward said, moving into the pigeon coop to stay dry as Chester went down the fire escape.

Chester had only been gone a couple of moments when Edward heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Too many to be Chester’s. Too heavy.

He glanced around for a spot to hide but knew there was no way out. He knew he couldn’t reach the fire escape in time. So he did the only thing he could think of: he shut the door to the pigeon coop and huddled down on the concrete floor, making himself as small as possible.  
He knew from the voices it was them: all three of his cousins.  
Samantha, Terry and Charlie.

‘Wonder if Cobblepot’ll be up here?’ Charlie said, a trace of caution in her voice, ‘Or his crazy mom?’

‘You scared of that little runt Charlie?’ Terry taunted.

‘You know he talks to these flying rats?’, Samantha giggled, jabbing a thumb at the pigeon coop.

‘’Cause they're the only friends the little freak’s got’, Terry said.

She kicked the coop causing the birds to chirp in alarm and take flight.  
Edward felt a rush of anger as he realized Cobblepot must be Chester’s surname. 

‘Shut up’, he said and threw the door open.

His threat didn’t have the desire effect. In fact the three girls didn’t give any sign they had heard him. They were more interested in enjoying the cigarettes they had stolen from their mom’s purse.

‘Oh, hey orphan’, Charlie said dismissively, closing the lighter shut once all their cigarettes were lit.

‘Don’t call me that!’ Edward said, louder this time before adding, ‘And don’t talk about my friend like that!’

‘When’d you grow a pair? Huh?!’ Terry demanded, shoving Edward back with one hand.

‘If you don’t go away right now, I’ll tell your mom you’re smoking!’ Edward said, trying to remember what Chester had told him.  
They were just jealous. That’s all. He was better than them. Smarter.

‘A snitch as well as a dweeb huh?’ Samantha said with a cruel smile, flicking the lighter open and closed menacingly.

‘In Gotham, snitches get stitches’, Terry smirked.

Edward was forced to back up as the three older girls advanced on him, his eyes drawn nervously to the heat of the lighter.

‘Aww! Lookit him!’ Charlie said, cooing mockingly, ‘He’s all scared!’ 

‘Maybe he’s hopin’ his new boyfriend’ll stand up for him?’ Samantha said, jabbing her sister with an elbow, egging her on.

‘Is that right orphan?’ Terry sneered, shoving Edward so hard he hurt his back against the pigeon coop, ‘Cobblepot your new boyfriend?’ 

All three began to shriek with laughter at the image. Edward’s heart was loud in his ears. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, the anger flooding into his brain and adrenaline poisoning every rational thought.

‘Mr and Mrs Bird Brain!’ Terry cried with mirthful tears running down her idiotic face.

It was as if Edward’s arm had a mind of its own. Before he knew what he was really doing, he had smacked Terry hard in the face with the hardback notebook.

‘He’s not a bird brain! He’s my friend!’ he shouted.

He felt a rush of victory at the shock in all three identical faces and gave a hysterical laugh.  
Which was silenced quickly by a painful impact to his stomach.  
Ed fell to his knees, breath knocked out of him by the punch Samantha had delivered to his gut.  
He clutched his notebook to his chest, his only weapon as he vomited, gagging with the sensation and the pain. He saw his glasses fall off and mercifully miss the puddle of vomit.  
He gasped as Charlie grabbed his hair and tilted his head back, forcing him to look up at all three of the now livid bullies. He barely noticed the vivid red scratch on Terry’s face from the impact with his notebook.  
He felt drool dribble down his chin and tried to stop the tears pooling in his eyes.

‘Then you're a freak and a faggot like him’, Charlie sneered, readying her fist to exact her own revenge.

‘Could be worse. His nose could be gushing blood’, came a different voice.

‘Who the f-‘ Charlie began but didn’t say anything else.

Edward felt her release her grip but was too busy dealing with his own pain to really pay attention to what was happening.  
It was only when he heard the screams that he forced himself to look up.

Chester had come back.  
Two of Edward’s cousins, he couldn’t tell which from his blurred, tear filled eyes were running for the stairs leading back down into the apartment building.  
Edward made out the shape of an open umbrella, rolling along the surface of the roof then realised the last of his cousins was the one screaming.

He wiped his eyes hastily with the back of his shirt and looked up to see Chester had hold of Charlie’s hair. At first he thought he was kissing her until he saw the blood pouring down her chin, staining her pink t-shirt.  
He didn’t know if Chester let her go or Charlie finally broke away but Edward got a good view of her terrified face before she too pelted for the stairs.  
Chester had sank his teeth into her nose.

Edward was still processing the savagery of the attack when he realised he was being pulled to his feet. He felt numb and shaky but forced himself to go where Chester was trying to lead him.  
The two boys ran down the fire escape, away from the scene of the crime.

They stood, panting in the alley as the rain continued to fall.  
Edward felt weak and shaky but exhilarated as he felt Chester push his retrieved glasses carefully into his hand.  
Chester had just fought off three enemies! To help him!  
Nobody had ever stood up for him before.  
It had been amazing. Terrifying but amazing!  
Like a wild animal in one of the documentaries he liked to watch!  
He turned to tell Chester so but realised he was gone.  
The only sign he had ever been there was a white handkerchief on the wet floor of the alley. It had a penguin embroidered on it.

Oswald watched from behind the dumpsters as Edward put the handkerchief in his pocket and left. He sniffed quietly and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.  
He’d ruined everything. He just hadn’t been able to help himself when he had seen them hurt Edward! And all because Edward had defended him!  
That didn’t make any sense either.  
They had only just met. Why had Edward tried to stand up for him? It was because of him that Edward had gotten hurt!  
He had even avoided using his strange first name to make sure Edward wouldn’t laugh at him. ‘Chester’ sounded more normal than ‘Oswald’.  
He felt sad but he told himself it was better for Edward to leave now. He seemed nice and Oswald was…crazy. Everyone said so and now, tasting someone else’s blood in his mouth, he knew they were right. Now that Edward had seen the real him, he wouldn’t want to stay anyway.  
But, was one friend too much to ask?!

 

Oswald is gripping the bars as tight as Ed had gripped that handkerchief on the lonely bus ride home. His aunt had sent him home as soon as she had gotten hold of him, refusing to have a’psychopath’ under the same roof as her beloved, angelic daughters. His father had let him know exactly what he thought of him. Apparently it was not okay to hit girls but it was okay for a grown man to use his belt on his only son.  
That night, nursing his wounds in the darkness of his bedroom, Edward had chosen his new name. Edward Nygma. A small step on the road to becoming someone else. Someone stronger.

Ed’s heart is racing: not just from the shock at Oswald angrily lunging for him but from realization.

How had he not recognised that Oswald and ‘Chester’ had been the same person?  
Perhaps in an odd, subliminal way he had when he had first approached him at the GCPD all those months ago. Something locked deep in his memories had drawn him to the man: someone else who didn’t belong but unlike Ed, didn’t seem to care.  
Anything Ed was not using was periodically deleted from the hard drive of his brain. That included encounters with bullies: there had been so many of those they had become interchangeable. Over time, Ed had forgotten his encounter with the boy on the rooftop. He had often wondered about the pigeon doodle but there had been so many more notebooks he had gradually forgotten it in favour of new mysteries. Even the handkerchief had been lost to history.  
Though destiny, unhappy to be thwarted and apparently tired of waiting, had decided to fling them together again and again.  
Through Hell and deep water.

The way Oswald is looking at him through the bars, Ed understands why two of his cousins had fled immediately when they had seen him all those years ago.  
Oswald’s eyes are dead and glassy as he stares, unblinking, at Ed.  
Ed feels sick as he realises there’s no trace of that gentle little boy in Oswald’s eyes now.  
He is looking at Ed the same way he looked at his cousin all those years ago.  
As an enemy.  
As _prey._


End file.
